Escaping the Void

Chapter One

I stand in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Trevor has just given me one of his legendary black eyes in a heated argument we had. My left eye throbs a bit. I gently blot it with a wet rag, but the slightest touch sends the pain shooting through my eye. I should be used to this by now. Trevor has always been a controlling, jealous boyfriend. We always argue, and he just loves to use violence. He'll slap, kick, punch, whatever he can do to shut me up and keep me in check.

When Trevor and I first met, he was the perfect gentleman. He treated me with the respect that any girl deserved and showed me unhindered love. Everything about our relationship was blissful. A few months later, he got mad at me because I started spending time with one of my friends; that friend was a guy. Trevor demanded me to stop hanging out with him. I told him that I was my own person, and that I can choose who I can and cannot be friends with. So he slapped me in the face so hard that I stumbled back and hit the floor. It was the scariest moment of my whole entire life. Trevor broke down crying and he told me that he would never lay a hand on me ever again. And you know what I did? My dumb ass stayed with him. I was so in love with him that I told him it wasn't his fault. I should have left him that very moment, but no. I stayed. Now here I am three years worth of beatings later with a new bruise to add to my collection.

I have absolutely no life because of him. I had to quit my job because he thought that I was flirting with my co-workers. I barely speak to my friends. Every time I do, they always urge me to leave. I always scoff at them. Hmph, as if I have never tried to already. Every time I think of a way to escape, he catches me, and I am once again under his rule. So, here I am, cleaning up the bits of blood from my face and trying to hold back these tears. I've accepted the fact that there's only one way I'd be able to leave this place is if he kills me. He'll never let me go otherwise.

I retreat from the bathroom a few minutes later, slowly walking into the living room. I stand in the doorway looking at Trevor as he sits on the couch and watches the TV. He looks up at me with a black expression, absolutely no sign of remorse. "Your eye looks bad," he says as he returns his attention to the television.

"It'll be okay," I say flatly. Like always, I think.

"There's some dishes in the sink that still needs cleaning," he tells me. I cross the room to the kitchen without saying another word. When I get to the sink, I pick up the dish rag and begin washing the first dish I see. For a while, I get to work in peace and quiet. "Drew," Trevor says.

I never answer him when he calls my name, but he speaks anyway. "I want you to know that I love you. I love you way too much to let you go."

I don't say anything. I just keep scrubbing the filthy dishes, trying my hardest to get all of the scum off of them. I hear him get up and walk towards me, and I'm filled with fear. He hugs me from behind and holds me, but I pay him no attention. "Do you love me?" he asks.

"Yes," I say.

"Say it. I wanna hear you say it," Trevor demands. I stop and stare down at the muggy water, using every fiber of my being just to get the four words out.

"I love you, Trevor," I lie. I turn my head to the side and fabricate a small smile. It seems to please him. He gives me a peck on my cheek, and I fight myself not to flinch.

"Meet me in the room after you're done here," he says as he walks away. Once he's gone, I breathe easier and go back to work. If there's anything I've learned from Trevor, it's that lying to him is much less painful than the truth, especially in bed.

I walk into the bedroom of our apartment after finishing the dishes. I wish there were more for me to wash so that I wouldn't have to do this. Not so soon, at least. Trevor is sitting on the bed, all of his clothes already off other than his boxers. I close the door behind me and stand at the end of the bed, waiting for his orders. "Take off your clothes," he says as he leans back onto the headboard.

I do as I'm told. I strip down to my undergarments, then I reach my arms behind my back, fumbling with the clasp until it comes undone. I let the straps slip off of my shoulders, allowing the bra to fall to the floor. My fingers grip the inside of my panties until I pull them down my legs. He stares at my body like he's never seen me bare before, and it almost makes me shutter. He licks his lips slowly as he says, "Come over here."

I walk over to the side of the bed opposite of his and sit down beside him. Trevor then stands to pull his boxers off, and I know that's my queue to lay down flat on the bed in a ready position, so I do.

I find it hard to believe that he still finds me attractive when I'm covered in cuts and bruises. Maybe that's one of his turn-ons; physically and mentally broken women. Do you feel good about yourself, Trevor, I think. Does it make you feel strong when you hit me? Does it make you feel superior when you make me cry? Do you get a rush out of forcing yourself inside of me? What is it that makes you feel so insignificant that you have to prove that you're not? 

Soon he's on top of me. The feeling of his body on mine makes me sick to my stomach, yet there is nothing I can do but take it. Every time he touches me, it fills me with pain. Every thrust, every groan and moan that he makes causes me to loath his even more. I disguise my hatred and discomfort for pleasure, though. I make sure to moan and call his name. And when the time comes, I fake my orgasm. 

After he's done, he gives me a few sloppy kisses and rolls over, panting. It's not long before he's asleep. I just lay there and begin to silently cry. Tears of grave regret and sorrow cascade down the sides of my face, and I wipe them away just in case he happens to wake up. 

I could try to escape right now. I could throw on some clothes, take his car keys, his wallet, and never look back. But Trevor doesn't have a lot of money. It would last me no time. And I'm almost sure he would catch me. I could try tomorrow when he leaves for work; I'd call one of my friends and devise a very detailed plan of how I could leave without him finding me, then acting upon it. But the deadly truth is, I'm scared.